Until The Words Don't Rhyme
by skylightofday
Summary: Kurt Hummel has finally escaped Ohio, and is ready to begin his new life in New York city. So what if he's not moving to the city to star on Broadway, but rather to act as a subsititute music teacher? He's still made it, he's still got out, and he'd ready to finally start living his dream. And if he happens to meet someone to share his dream with... well, he's not going to say no.
1. Chapter 1

Until the Words don't Rhyme

"Okay, so you've got most of your stuff, clothes and pictures and things."

"I know, Dad, I packed it myself."

"The delivery men dropped off your furniture earlier today, and the electricity and water and the phone line, all of that was fixed up yesterday."

"Yes, Dad."

"The place still looks pretty bare though, Kiddo, if you ask me, so maybe you'd want to get some more things to make the place a bit more homey, less like a show room."

"Dad"

"Although maybe it'll be a bit more comfortable once you unpacked your stuff, got your creams and stuff set up in the bathroom and your pictures up..."

"Dad..."

"Unless you're going for some kinda trendy, less-is-more style in here, I don't really know anything about interior decorating so maybe that kinda thing is popular this year, who knows-"

"Dad!"

Burt stopped talking.

"I'm going to miss you too."

Burt took a moment to just look at his son, his little boy who wasn't so little anymore, before taking two large strides forward and wrapping him up in his arms. Kurt may be 23 now, definitely no longer a child, but when Burt held him he still fisted his hands in the back of his Burt's shirt and rested his head on his shoulder and squeezed back as if no time had passed at all since he was a little boy being comforted after falling off his bike and scraping his knee. Burt indulged himself in a long moment of just holding his son before with a deep breath he unwrapped his arms and made himself step back. Kurt's eyes watery and he was biting at his lower lip, something he always did when he was trying to stop himself from crying, but his pale cheeks were rosy and his blue-grey eyes were glistening in a way that had nothing to do with the tears he was trying to keep at bay and everything to do with finally being in a city where he could finally be Kurt Hummel the way that Kurt Hummel was supposed to be.

It would hurt to leave him, but it would be a good kind of pain.

Burt Hummel was never one to mince his words, and was not a fan of long, emotional goodbyes, so he simply looked at his son one more time, stepped forward a pressed a last kiss to the top of his head, breathed in another moment before walking to the door, a last "I love you, Kiddo" ringing out before the door shut behind him.

Once the door was closed behind him, he'd double checked that he had all his stuff and he'd hopped in his taxi to drive to the airport, once he'd spent the couple of hours on the plane running through memories of first words and first steps and holding hands at a funeral and laughing over the dinner table on a Friday night, once he'd arrived home and kissed his wife on the cheek and dumped his bag in his room and walked quietly down the hall to his son's room, once he'd sat on the bed and buried his face a pillow, Burt finally let himself just _miss_ his son.

Kurt was much less reserved about how he was feeling. As soon as the door shut behind his father, he found himself curling up on the floor of his new apartment and cried until his eyes were read and puffy, the tear tracks were drying uncomfortably on his face and the collar of his 'moving in' shirt was damp with tears. And then, Kurt picked himself back up. Yes he missed his family already – he'd said an emotional goodbye to Carole and Finn before he and his father flew out that morning, and Kurt felt like a little part of himself was boarding the plane back to Lima, Ohio with his father, but he couldn't let his homesickness ruin the day that he'd been dreaming about since he first saw 'West Side Story' when he was six and decided he wanted to move there and marry Tony.

True, his dreams hadn't turned out quite the way he had planned; he hadn't moved to the city straight from high school, he hadn't attended NYADA and he hadn't begun to make a name for himself as a new up and coming Broadway star. But so what if he'd gone to Ohio State rather than his dream school and he had studied to be a teacher instead, and who cared is he was moving to New York not to start rushing auditions but to start teaching as the substitute music teacher at a high school in Brooklyn while the woman who normally taught there went on maternity leave? He still done it, he'd still _escaped_. With the extra money Burt (and now Finn, as well) was making from the new addition of a second 'Hummel's Tire and Lube' in Columbus, his father had insisted on buying him an apartment, so here he was in the perfect two bedroom overlooking the Hudson River. He had the perfect apartment, a job that he was excited to start in four weeks, and he was in the city of his dreams.

Things were finally looking up for Kurt Hummel.

Kurt decided it was high time to begin his New York City life, and that all begins at home; by finally take a look around his apartment. Despite his excitement over the place, he had yet to take a proper look around the place, so he cast his eyes around the room he was standing in. The entrance to his apartment lead straight into the living area: wooden floor that Kurt's fashion-conscious eye definitely approved of and a soft rug spread in front of a beautiful white leather sofa. A matching arm chair sat in the corner of the room next to a wooden bookshelf that Kurt could tell would give the room the perfect touch once he'd filled it, just the right edge of scholarly comfort. But the piece de resistance was the wall to ceiling window, over-looking the Hudson River and with a breathtaking view of the city, Kurt envisioned rearranging the armchair so that it angled out the window rather than into the room, and imagining himself curled up in the chair with a book, watching the sunset, made a smile bloom across his face. This was it; this was the life that he'd always wanted to live.

With one last smile out the window, Kurt turned back to look at the rest of his apartment. The living room back onto a kitchen, that erred on the side of small but still had plenty of room for him to cook, one his favourite past times, and a breakfast bar and stools made out of a beautiful oak wood. A corridor leads off behind the kitchen, with a door on each side and one at the end. Sticking his head round the door on the left, which was apparently the bathroom. White tile floors, a white porcelain sink and toilet, and a white shower. A small cabinet hung above the sink, with just enough room for his moisturisers and skin care products. It wasn't ideal, but it was still pretty great for an apartment in New York, where Kurt knew many people lived in poxy one bedroom apartments with mould on the walls and cabinets falling straight off the walls.

Kurt left the room to check out the last two: the bedrooms. The room on the right was a nice, if rather small, bedroom with a large bed and what looked to be a comfortable mattress, small chest of drawers and even smaller wardrobe. The room's window, however, shared the view from the living room, and the sun shone down on New York as if it was greeting him.

With only one room left, even though the view had been stunning Kurt found himself hoping that the final bedroom would be better than the first.

He wasn't disappointed. A large double bed with a high mattress that was luxuriously soft-but-firm, thick duvet and pillows and a beautiful headboard that gave Kurt a new appreciation for interior design, Kurt full out grinned. It was perfect. Letting himself take in the rest of the room, he saw a chest of drawers that he wasn't crazy about, but had already planned on swapping for his mother's vanity regardless, and a large wardrobe that had Kurt nearly drooling. And was that... Yes! A door next to the wardrobe lead back into a cute bathroom, complete with plenty of shelf space for his products and a bath that Kurt was already picturing himself relaxing into after a long day at work.

All in all, the apartment was exquisite. He allowed himself a moment to squeal with excitement and joy, before turning back into the main part of the apartment to begin unpacking. He couldn't wait a moment longer.

Finally, five hours later as the sun is beginning to set, Kurt curls up in his new armchair and watches his first New York sunset. He can feel his exhaustion setting in, but there's no way he's wasting his first night in his new city sleeping. His first extinct is to just order take out and sit at home – start as you mean to go on – but he wants to do something more. Something _New York_. If he was still in contact with Santana Lopez, he knew what she'd suggest: hit up the first gay club he can find, drink until he's numb and take someone home with him to fuck until morning. But just because he's in a new place doesn't mean he ought to change himself, in fact he thought it should mean quite the opposite. He'd managed to stay true to himself all throughout his hellish years in Ohio, there was no way he was changing himself now. And Kurt Hummel didn't go clubbing alone, didn't drink much more than the occasional glass with dinner (he still hadn't fully recovered from his experience with alcohol in high school) and Kurt Hummel, regardless of everything that had happened over the past few years, still believed in romance. He was by no means still the nervous boy who thought that a touch of the fingertips was as sexy as you could get, and he had indulged in the occasional fling throughout his college career, but one night stands weren't his thing, and even if they were, that wasn't the sort of memory he wanted for his first night in his new home. No, there was no other option: a stroll through the streets at dusk, a quick stop for food somewhere, and maybe keeping his eyes peeled for somewhere nearby that he would be able to get his daily caffeine fix.

He hopped out of the chair before his lethargy reappeared and hurried into his new bedroom to change out of his 'moving in' clothes into the perfect 'first night in New York' outfit. Whilst Kurt didn't dress quite as outlandishly as he had in high school, fashion was still important to him, so he spent a good while in the mirror checking he looked acceptable before heading out the door. Once he was satisfied that his hair was quaffed to perfection and his rich purple button up and black fitted jeans were sitting correctly, he slipped into a pair of black Doc Martens, a dark purple tweed blazer – something he'd originally turned his nose up at but after trying it one found it fitted like it was made with him in mind, broadening his shoulders even further and slimming his waist so he looked like a model after the picture has been airbrushed – and headed out the door, slipping his phone and wallet into his jeans pocket (a tight squeeze, but something he'd perfected over the years). He was ready.

Just walking the streets gave him a thrill like nothing he'd experienced in his life so far, and he'd walked all round the block before he'd realising it, time passing swiftly as he allowed himself to simply take in the scenes around him. He even relished the people hurrying down the street along with him, barely blinking twice when someone knocked into him because he adored that the shoulder check was entirely accidental, and the culprit hadn't blinked twice at him. It was everything he'd hoped it would be. His stomach gurgling in hunger, however, was not a part of his New York fantasy, and he knew that after not having eaten since breakfast in Lima that morning – it seemed an eternity ago – he would need to eat soon before his stomach staged a revolution. Just as he was thinking that he would stop at the first restaurant he saw, price be damned, he heard soft music coming from the side street he had just walked past.

Intrigued, he turning back on himself and followed the noise, finding himself at a poky cafe with bad pictures of all the food items on display next the description and bored looking waitresses weaving their way through the crowds of people staring at something at the back of the room. He crinkled his nose in distaste as he scanned the menu, above the counter, but he hadn't come for the quality of the food, he came for the music, so he ordered himself what looked to be the safest choice – a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, more grease than he'd normally allow himself but much more appealing than anything else that was pictured above the cashier's head. Taking his food, he slipped into a chair at the back of the cafe and began slowly nibbling on his dinner.

He looked up to scan the room just as somebody standing in front of the makeshift stage at the back, and his eyes widened as he took in the man sitting on a stool in a poor-quality spotlight, his head bowed a mop of curly dark brown hair covering his face as he crooned out the words to a song that Kurt hadn't recognised until now.

"_I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece, I'm complete, let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love..."_

Kurt stilled for a moment as he listened to the painful sweet rendition of the pop song that had been popular while he was in high school, and he found himself abandoning his food all together as he watched the man sing. And if Kurt's breath caught when the singer looked out into the audience and he was able to see those beautiful caramel coloured eyes, who could blame him? Kurt assured himself that he stayed long past his food going cold to appreciate the music, not the beauty of the musician, and if he was watching him a little more closely than normal for cafe entertainment, he certainly wasn't the only one; the singer seemed to have nearly every girl, and a few of the guys as well, ready to crawl at his feet by the time he had moved on to an acoustic version of Usher's 'scream' that was both sexy and desperately romantic – a hard feat for a song that was about pure sex.

Finally the man stopped singing, said goodbye to the audience in a voice that was every bit as smooth and gorgeous as his singing voice, and left the stage, eliciting sounds of protest from the crowd. Kurt pulled himself together, double checked that his money and phone were still in his pocket – he'd heard New York City pick pocket horror stories – and turned to leave...

Only to bump straight in to somebody as they both reached for the door.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Kurt cried, turning to apologise again to the man he'd just pretty much assaulted, and his eyes widened as he took in the man in front of him. He was a couple of inches shorter than Kurt, but up close his eyes were even more breathtaking, with flawless tanned skin, a jaw bone to die for, gorgeous curly hair and _oh God the way he smelled..._

"Sorry!" Kurt yelped again, as he realised he was standing way too far into his personal space and that definitely wasn't acceptable even in New York, but the man was grinning – and _shit_ he looked even better with his smile crinkling up the corner of his eyes.

"No, no, don't worry about it, I wasn't looking where I was going. You clearly had the right of way" the man joked, and Kurt tried to pretend he didn't swoon. They stood, staring at each other for a moment, each man breathing quietly and holding eye contact in a way that burned gloriously. The singer opened his mouth, and Kurt his breathe, when suddenly his phone was vibrating in his pocket, and the moment was gone. 'Dad' was flashing on the phone screen and Kurt was eager to hear his father's voice even after having only been parted from him for about nine hours. He lifted the phone to his ear, said a quick "Hey Dad, hold on a moment" before turning back to the singer.

"You sounded great tonight" he smiled and the curly haired man returned it, looking bashfully at the ground.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you to say."

"No problem," Kurt reached out once more to open the door, and this time there was no handsome stranger to get in his way, "Have a good night."

As he walked out onto the street, turning right to head back to the main road and find his way back to his apartment, returning his attention to his father and he began to tell him all about decorating the apartment and his first day in the city. As he turned back onto the main street he turned back behind him, just for a moment, but the singer was nowhere to be seen. Kurt pushed it out of his mind and carried on back towards his new home, listening fondly to his dad tell him about an incident that had happened over dinner that night, involving Finn and a carton of eggs. He laughed along with his Dad and wrapped himself in the sound of his voice.


	2. Chapter 2

His first night in the city, Kurt slept like a baby. He woke up early, in time to see his clock tick over to seven o'clock, and slipped out of bed, padding barefoot through to the living room and gazing out the window at the skyline, as if to make sure that it wasn't all just a wonderful dream. He watched in rapt amazement as people milled about below him on their ways to work, and listened eagerly to the sound of car horns and just the general noise of the city, and found it hard to believe that this could be his life.

He couldn't wait to get down there and be a part of it.

He hurried back into his bedroom to pick out an outfit for the day – his clothes couldn't be anything less than perfect for his first proper day in New York – and headed into the bathroom, where he indulged in a long, hot shower before just standing in the room for a while and letting the steam from the shower flush out his pores. He spent longer than normal on his normal morning moisturising routine, in case the city air that he'd soaked up last night had created excess oil, and practically floated back through the apartment to his room.

Almost an hour and a half later, his hair neatly styled and his clothes sitting _just so_, Kurt once again slipped his phone and wallet into his pockets, the action taking him back to his feelings of euphoria from the night before, and he left the apartment with a spring in his step. He had been too caught up in just _being _in New York the evening before, so he hadn't remembered to keep an eye out for a coffee house, so he decided he would just stop at the first place he came across and hope for the best. Kurt Hummel needed his coffee before he could really function in the morning, and he had yet to buy a proper coffee machine, so it was crucial he find somewhere nearby so that it wouldn't be too much hassle to pop down for a grande non-fat mocha when the craving struck.

As luck would have it, he hadn't even walked for five minutes before he had come across a small coffee shop on the corner of one of the quieter streets. He could tell from just looking at the place that it would soon be _his place_; it sat just off from the main street and the tall building lining the road had a strange muting effect on the traffic, and through the glass window he could see a number of soft looking sofas and arm chairs, with proper coffee tables, scattered almost haphazardly around the store. About half of the seats were taken up by people who obviously weren't in any hurry to get going, all settled comfortably into their chairs and chattering while they sipped their drinks. There were paintings and drawings hanging all over the walls, what Kurt suspected to be amateur artists hanging their work in the shop as a means of getting recognition, and Kurt found himself falling in love with the place almost instantly. A young girl, probably in her late teens, was walking gracefully through the seats, artfully dodging outstretched legs and inconveniently placed handbags, gathering mugs and plates from people that had obviously finished but still weren't ready to leave the comfort of the store. Her uniform green polo proudly displayed the name of the shop: Two Sugars, and Kurt smiled watching her laugh amiably with a few of the customers as she cleared the tables.

As soon as he opened the door, a bell ringing out sweetly to announce his entry, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hit him, and he soaked it in. Now _this_ is what New York's all about. The regular rush of people stopping before work had tapered down so the coffee shop wasn't over run, but was still filled with a low hum of quiet chatter. There were two people in front of him in the queue, but Kurt already knew his order, so he used the time while he was waiting his turn to examine the barista. Dark hair slicked back and neatly parted – _far too much gel, his poor hair must feel completely smothered_ – and a strong jaw bone, impossibly long dark eyelashes and a strong jaw, and a strangely familiar face. He was wearing the same green polo shirt as the girl, but his was buttoned to the top, and Kurt couldn't help smiling at the cheery yellow-and-green polka dot bow tie he had added. Kurt could certainly appreciate accessorising. So now, as if the cosy atmosphere wasn't enough, he had even more incentive to return to Two Sugars.

Finally it was Kurt's turn to order, and he stepped up to the counter with a polite smile.

"Good morning." The barista looked up and made eye contact with him, and a broad smile broke out across his face, "Oh, hello again!"

Again? Where had he…? No, it couldn't be, surely not. But those eyes were so distinctive…

"Oh! Um, hello." Kurt could feel a blush spreading across his cheeks as he realised that the dapper young man behind the counter was the same guy as he'd made the night before. He looked so different, with his hair gelled into submission and his clothes so neat and just _different_ from last night, but now that he realised who it was he didn't know how he hadn't made the connection sooner.

The barista smirked. "You know, if you liked my music so much you should have just said so last night, you didn't need to follow me around." He folded his arms on the counter and leaned forward.

Kurt fought the smile, and instead quirked an eyebrow at him. "What makes you think that it was me following you? For all I know, you could have turned up at the same place as me on purpose."

"Everyone knows it's the musicians that get the stalkers, not the musicians stalking the fans."

Kurt rolled his eyes, forcing his face to stay passive. "Just get me a grande non-fat mocha, or do I have to talk to your supervisor?"

The barista chuckled, and shot Kurt a mock salute. "Yes, sir, that's $3.45. If you go grab a place to sit, I'll bring it over when it's ready." He smiled again, before turning to make the coffee.

Kurt tilted his head in thought – he hadn't taken anybody else's drinks over to them – but decided not to comment, and pivoted on the spot to find the perfect place to sit. He spotted a small loveseat in the back corner, with a quaint, mismatched coffee table sitting in front of it, and he weaved his way over to settle in to the seat, pulling out his phone to send off a couple of texts to Finn and his Dad, wishing them a good morning. He looked up as a figure appeared in front of him.

Without a word, the barista slid a steamy mug of coffee onto the table, and Kurt couldn't help the upturn of his lips at the smell – _God, he loved coffee._ Just as he was getting ready to say thank you, a plate was slipping onto the table next to the mug, with a large slice of flapjack.

"It's my favourite, cranberry and orange," the barista grinned, "On the house." Kurt could do nothing but blink as the barista, keeping eye contact the whole time, leant down, tore off a corner of the flapjack, and slipped it between his lips - _perfectly full, red lips_ – and chewed, swallowing with a quiet moan that sent a shiver up Kurt's spine. The barista smirked again, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, before shooting Kurt a wink – a _wink!_ – and strolling back to his place behind the counter.

_Welcome to New York_, he muttered under his breathe, before nibbling on the flapjack himself and stifling a moan of his own.

The next couple of days pass in a flurry of furniture shopping, exploring and just generally settling in. On the Friday Kurt attends a meeting at the high school he's going to start work at in just a few short weeks at the start of September, and he leaves even more enthusiastic than he was before. It's by no means a dream job – the students don't achieve top grades and many of them come from difficult home lives, and school doesn't have much funding so it's running with the bare minimum of materials – but he has visions of himself teaching an up and coming class of ingénues, helping them better their music and, maybe, being what Mr Schue always was to himself and the glee club (minus the tendency to favouritism and obliviousness when it came to the blatant bullying that went on under his nose every day.) Okay, so maybe not Mr Schuester, but he hoped that he would maybe be able to better a few lives while he was there.

On the Saturday, Kurt returns to his exploration of his new home, and in the afternoon, just before dusk, as he strolls along the Hudson River, he comes across a turning he'd not noticed on his walks there before. Intrigued, he turned and walked down the cobblestoned path, curious that there was such an old-school, quaint street in the middle of the city. He passes a few apartment buildings – the kind that look like they're home to more cockroaches than people, and a grocery store, before he sees, at the end of the street, a small bookshop. The sign above the door reads 'Five Fathoms' and the window shows the little shop to be heaving with books.

Kurt pictures the bookshop in his living room, just waiting to be filled, and opens the door. The shop appears to be empty, save for a man reading through an old copy of Shakespeare's 'The Tempest', and the man behind the till, whose back was turned. Kurt browsed the books on the first shelf. There seemed to be no particular order to them, the medley of authors and genres practically spilling off the shelf, and rather than finding it irritating he found it to be strangely endearing.

When Kurt had been deciding on a major at college, he had very nearly chosen to become an English teacher, rather than a music teacher. After receiving his rejection letter from NYADA, it had been hard for Kurt to even think about studying theatre anywhere else, and even when he'd decided to put his talents to teaching he had thought for a while that it would be too hard to teach music, that it would bring back too many memories.

As he got caught up in his past, he flashed back to the night he had announced his decision over dinner.

"_I think I've decided what I want to do at college."_

_It was spring break, and Finn was back from OSU for the week, and Rachel had flown down to Lima to visit him. Things had been tense between Kurt and Rachel even before the NYADA incident – their brief foray into friendship had ended rather spectacularly after she suggested, in front of everyone at glee practice, that perhaps Kurt was embellishing his stories about the bullying so that he would be given a solo at regionals out of pity. "We all know that you don't have the vocal talents to solo at regionals, Kurt, and I know how hard it can be watching your superiors perform and knowing that you'll never be that good, but really, whilst the dramatics are always something that I appreciate, I think that it's simply selfish of you to exaggerate so much to try and guilt us into giving you solos." Kurt had waited for one of his friends to jump to his defence, but even Finn had merely coughed uncomfortably a looked away. That had marked the end of his days in glee club, and the end of his friendships with any of the people he had once regarded as his family._

_Finn had come around, making up for his absence as a brother during high school by becoming so fraternal after the NYADA incident that Kurt had to wonder what had made the change, but he never asked. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? It had, in fact, been his idea for Kurt to go into teaching. One weekend when Finn came down from OSU, he'd become confused with how to use the oven and Kurt had stepped in to show him what to do._

"_Dude, you're really good at that."_

"_What, switching on the oven? It's not exactly rocket science Finn, no offence."_

"_No, I meant showing me how to do stuff. Normally people make me feel stupid when I get confused."_

_And from that moment on, Kurt pulled himself out of his NYADA rejection slump and turned his sights to teaching. He researched courses and colleges, and found the course he wanted at Ohio State. It was his dream university, but he'd realised in the past year how important his family was to him, and he wanted to stay close to them while he put his life back on track. _

"_I want to be a music teacher."_

_Everyone around the Hummel-Hudson dinner table stopped eating and looked at him, Finn grinning broadly, Carole smiling at him in pleasant surprise, and his Dad giving him the look that he knew meant "I'm proud of you, Kid."_

_And for a moment, Kurt was proud of himself too._

_And then Rachel Berry, who Kurt had been intentionally ignoring all evening, stood up and nodded her approval, too. "I think that's commendable, Kurt. Some people wouldn't have been able to study music after having been told that their talent is subpar, but I think that it's very brave of you to try to teach people to do what you're not good enough to do yourself. Bravo."_

_Some people, those who didn't know Rachel, might think that she was joking, or being sarcastic and facetious. But Kurt knew Rachel._

_And he tried not to let it get to him. He tried really hard._

"Well fancy running in to you here."

Kurt is jolted out of his trip down memory lane by a smooth, familiar voice, and he looks up to see the man from behind the till standing in front of him, wearing a black polo shirt (buttoned up, of course) and a candy-cane striped bowtie, and a cheeky grin, standing in front of him. Kurt gasped and his hand flew to his chest in shock, and the man laughed.

"I tend to have that effect on people." He chuckled, looking at where his hand was clutching his heart and winking at Kurt – _God, this guy and his winks _– looking at the book in Kurt's hand. "Ooh, 'The Tightrope Men', interesting choice. I didn't have you pegged for a thriller guy."

"No? What did you think I'd like, then?"

The men slowly and deliberately let his eyes scan up and down Kurt's body, before looking straight into his eyes and saying "Mysteries" in a way that said that he knew exactly what was going on in Kurt's mind.

Kurt hummed in reply, returning his gaze, "I like mysteries, but I'm not very good at them. Maybe you can give me a clue. This guy has been popping up everywhere I go. First he's a guitarist performing at a café. Then, he's a barista, making my coffee, and next thing I know, he's selling books in a cute little bookshop I've discovered. Have you ever read a book about stalking?" Kurt takes the opportunity to be the one to smirk, as the man bares his teeth in a grin.

"Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you sir? I think that you've some wishful thinking going on."

Kurt forces his lips to stop twitching into a smile, and simply rolls his eyes in response.

The man chuckles again, before adding, "Seriously though, if you're so desperate to spend time with me, the least you can do is tell me your name."

Kurt lifts his eyebrow before succumbing to a smile. "Kurt. My name's Kurt."

The man's smile grows even broader, and Kurt watches as his eyes seem to light up as he keeps watching Kurt and tests the name out on his tongue.

"Kurt. Kurt. Kuuuuurt. Kurt."

Every time he repeats it, he over enunciates the 't', and the sound of him name falling from the man's lips – _lips that were made to be kissed, it's a sin if they aren't being appreciated _- leaves Kurt a little breathless.

"Not going to reciprocate?" Kurt raises his eyebrows expectantly, looking forward to finally being able to give this handsome stranger a name, but the man just chuckles.

"I like to keep people guessing." He winks again – _God, this man_ – and Kurt's lips twitch, once again, in amusement.

"Suit yourself" he sings, before turning gracefully on the spot and starting to walk back to the door (maybe adding a bit more swing to his hips than normal) and just as he reaches out from the door handle a tanned hand is wrapping fingers that obviously belong to a musician around his wrist, and he's being spun back around, his back pressed to the door.

"Blaine. My name's Blaine."

This time Kurt doesn't even try to stop his lips from smiling. "What happened to keeping me guessing?"

Blaine smirks in a way that should not have been as sexy as it was before leaning forward and whispering in Kurt's ear, his voice pitched at a lower, huskier tone that made Kurt's breathe stutter, and a warm tickle of breath caressing his skin. "I thought you needed a clue."

And just as Kurt was sure his heart was going to thump straight out of his chest because there's _no way_ that should have been that hot, it's gone: Blaine's stepped back out of his space and this time it's Kurt left watching as hips swing sinfully away from him.

Before Kurt's been able to compose himself and leave the store, words reach his ears as he realises Blaine is singing something under his breathe.

"_All I know is we said hello, and your eyes look like coming home, all I know is a simple name, and everything has changed…"_


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt tried to stop thinking about the man –_Blaine_ – that night, but he couldn't get the man out of his mind. As he walked home he could hear the sound of a melodious chuckle following him, and when he finally crawled into bed that night it was only to close his eyes and be haunted by a dazzling smile and caramel eyes, the feel of fingers grasping his wrist and warm breath ghosting over his ear. He tried to act as if he wasn't affected. It's not like it was the first time a man had acted interested in him. Even though he'd only just arrived in New York, he had been to college, and whilst there wasn't an abundance of out, gay men walking the streets of Ohio he had been to clubs before, so he wasn't entirely starved of male attention.

But there was something different about this, and it wasn't just the fact that the flirting – because that's what it had been, he was sure – had happened during the day, in a public place rather than at night in at a crowded bar. No, it had nothing to do with the boldness of the move and all to do with the man making it. The man who Kurt knew to be a talented musician (and _God_ if that wasn't a turn on) and who dressed well, even if his style choice did take him straight back to the 1950s. The man whose eyes were pools of gold that left Kurt breathless and a voice that was so smooth and sexy that it sent shivers up Kurt's spine whenever he dropped his guard enough let himself indulge in thoughts of the man. Blaine. God, even the name reminded him of dapper young gentlemen doing the hand jive and grinning at him over a milkshake in an old school diner.

And this time it wasn't just Kurt making things more than they were. Okay, so the dancing and the milkshake may have been the product of an over active imagination and too many times watching _Grease_, but the way that Blaine acted with him, the flirting, was definitely, one hundred percent real, and Kurt loved it.

Kurt woke again with a smile on his face (nothing to do with dreams of a certain dark haired young man and a tangle of limbs in his bed, no sir) and walked leisurely through to his kitchen to make a pot of coffee. Then he paused. Really, he should treat himself. A non-fat mocha on a Sunday morning, he deserved it, he'd survived his first week. Yes, he should _definitely_ treat himself.

And if he spent twice as long fixing his hair this morning, and slipped into a pair of jeans that he knew made his ass look positively delicious, well. It never hurts to make a little effort.

Kurt paused outside the door to Two Sugars to compose himself. _I'm just shaky because I've not had my caffeine yet, that's all. _He took a deep breath, lifted his chin and pushed open the door, walking gracefully to the back of the queue. He kept his eyes away from the counter, not wanting to seem too eager – _don't want him to think I actually _am_ stalking him_. _Not that I care what he thinks._

Finally, he reached the front of the line and looked up, a pleasant smile on his face that was carefully constructed to look like he was just being polite, not smiling in anticipation of the warm grin and cheery bowtie and golden eyes and... Oh. Kurt forced his smile to stay in place – _I'm not disappointed, why would I be, I just came for the mocha_ – and gave his order to the blonde man behind the counter. The barista was handsome he supposed, but his skin was a little too pale, his hair too blonde, he preferred dark hair, always had, and his eyes were too blue for his taste. His forced smile stayed frozen on his face when the man handed him his coffee, murmured a quick "thank you" before weaving his way back to his seat in the corner, spilling a few drops onto his shirt and cursing under his breath when he didn't see someone's feet sticking out from under their coffee table and stumbled over them.

It wasn't quite the end to his first week in New York that he'd envisioned. He had coffee stains on his new shirt, he was hungry and found himself gazing longingly at the piece of flapjack a woman across the room was eating, and a feeling of loneliness that he'd not yet felt in the city was starting to sink over him. He frowned at himself, and shook his head a little to dislodge the negative thoughts. He had only been there seven days, what was he expecting, to have a crowd of ready-made friends delivered to his doorstep? He pulled himself quickly out of his slump and pulled his iPod from his pocket and sticking the headphones into his ear. He lost himself in the coffee and the warmth and the music.

"_And this is how the story went, I met someone by accident, that blew me away..."_

Kurt didn't go back to Two Sugars to look for Blaine on Monday. He went for the coffee. They made really good coffee. And he certainly wasn't disappointed when he was served by the blonde barista again.

So when he walked into the coffee shop on Tuesday morning, too, he was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face, nothing more. He didn't mentally squeal and flail around like a girl with her first crush.

Not much anyway.

He'd gone in a little later this morning, so there was nobody in front of him in the queue and only two of the sofas were occupied: one by a woman with her son, a cute boy that looked to be about four or five, and a pair of teenage girls chattering quietly by the window. He stepped up to the counter, and as Blaine looked up and made eye contact, and he was finally looking into those beautiful caramel pools once again, his practised smile dissolved into a grin that he simply couldn't stave off.

His cheeks started to tinge red at his blatant enthusiasm at seeing Blaine again, but his embarrassment was short lived as Blaine's grin matched his own.

"Morning, Kurt."

There it was again, the enunciation of the 't' – _is he going to do that every time his says my name_ – and once he'd taken a moment to internally rejoice in the fact that Blaine had remembered his name (there was no playing coy, not even in his own mind any more, he was damned happy to see him again) he replied.

"Good morning, Blaine," he glanced his eyes down to see what bowtie he was wearing today and his grin grew even further, "Nice bowtie."

Blaine's eyes sparkled and he reached his hands up to straighten the pink fabric. "Not enough people can appreciate a good bowtie. I'm glad to see you're one of the few that do."

"I appreciate any good accessory." Kurt lifted his chin in a mock arrogant gesture, and Blaine laughed.

"I can see that." He reached out and ran his fingers over the soft cotton of the cream scarf he'd wrapped around his neck that morning. "I like this."

"Thank you" It was by no means that first time somebody had complemented his clothes, but it was definitely one of the best, and he looked at the floor shyly.

"You're blushing."

Kurt flushed even deeper at that statement, and cleared his throat. "So are you going to get me my drink or what?"

Blaine chuckled and leaned forward on the counter like he had the week before. "It'd be much easier to do that if you'd ordered. You've only been here once; I don't know your order yet." Kurt didn't miss the stress he put on the word _yet_. "You're the detective, not me, so you'll have to tell me what you want."

"I'm a detective?"

"Well, you're figuring me out, aren't you?"

Kurt found himself grinning again, and he knew it was no use trying to stop it. Blaine was just so... Just _so_.

"And that makes me a detective now does it?"

"Yes."

"And why's that?"

"Because I'm a mystery," Kurt giggled – _God he really was turning into a schoolgirl_ – at the teasing glint to Blaine's eyes, "But I might let you solve me."

Kurt's giggling stopped instantly as Blaine's voice dropped and he all but whispered that last sentence at him, the teasing edge to his voice disappearing and become entirely serious.

The two men kept eye contact with one another for a while, before Blaine's face softened a little and he smiled gently, his voice still quiet but much softer than the husky tone of before as he asked "So what can I get you, Detective?"

Kurt blinked once, twice, before stammering out, "Um. A grande non-fat mocha. Please."

Blaine nodded at him and gestured towards the corner that Kurt had sat at before. "I'll bring it over, you go sit down."

Kurt smiled in thanks before paying and heading over the sofa, smiling to himself when he reached his seat free from coffee stains. _If only Blaine was serving me like this every day._

He only had to wait a couple of minutes before a steaming mug was slid onto the coffee table, and a small ceramic plate set down next to it. If Kurt was honest, he wasn't surprised, and felt his mouth water a little just from looking at the large piece of flapjack. He was surprised, however, when a body plopped down on the sofa next to him, reaching out to tear a piece of flapjack off before pushing the plate further toward Kurt.

"My break starts in ten minutes and it doesn't look like we're going to get a mad rush any time soon, so I thought I'd join you."

Kurt raised his eyebrows at Blaine, but didn't say anything, smiling a little at Blaine's self-assuredness. They sat in silence for a while, passing the plate of flapjack back and forth until the last bite had been swallowed and Blaine cleared his throat, folding one leg under himself and turning to face Kurt.

"So Detective, tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"What do you want to tell?"

"Blaine."

"Kurt."

Kurt raised his eyebrows and kept quiet until Blaine sighed and smiled at him again.

"Fine, what's your surname?"

"Hummel."

"Hummel. So Kurt Hummel?"

"Yes."

"Adorable."

Kurt blushed again, something he was starting to find he did a lot in Blaine's company, and gestured at Blaine, as if to ask him to carry on.

"How old are you?"

"23"

"When's you're birthday?"

"March 4th"

"Where do you come from?"

"Lima, Ohio."

Blaine paused in his questioning and his eyes widened, "Oh wow, really? I'm from Westerville!"

Kurt grinned at his enthusiasm, "Small world."

"Just think Kurt, we were only two hours apart! We're practically soul mates." Blaine's smile turned cheeky and he added a little wink for good measure, relishing in the blush creeping up Kurt's cheeks.

"Is that the end of the Spanish inquisition?"

"Nope, I've got plenty more I want to know."

"Well I can't tell you everything all at once; I have to keep some element of mystery."

"I thought the mystery was my job, Detective."

"Well I need something to keep you interested, don't I?" Kurt smirked at him, flashing a wink of his own, and he grinned smugly when Blaine's cheeks tinted a little red for a change.

But Blaine didn't take long to recover, his smile softening and his eyes twinkling again, and next thing Kurt knew Blaine was leaning in towards him, close enough to be able to truly admire the length of his eyelashes and count the few freckles that dotted his hairline that he hadn't been able to see until now. "You don't have to worry, Kurt, I'm plenty interested."

Kurt's breathing stilled and they gazed at each other for a moment before Blaine was lightly squeezing his knee and pulling back, his hand staying on the fabric of his jeans and the heat from his palm all but burning his skin even through the denim.

"Last question: when did you move to New York?"

Kurt blinked a few times to take his focus away from the fingers lightly stroking his knee and back on the conversation. "Last week. Last Monday."

Blaine's eyes widened and he squeezed Kurt's knee a little tighter. "That recently? Wow, you look like you've been here for years. Welcome to the Big Apple, Detective!"

Kurt couldn't help smiling at the nickname (_I wonder if that would carry on to the bedroom... No Kurt! Bad thoughts! Inappropriate thoughts! Focus!_) and nodded his head. "Yeah, I feel as if I belong here. It's the city of my dreams; I've wanted to live here since I was six."

Blaine's hand resumed its stroking of Kurt's knee, and his smile turned soft, almost tender. "Well then, I'm glad you followed your dreams."

Kurt bit his lip and blushed, looking at his lap, but that only drew his attention back to Blaine's hand on his knee and he soon looked back up again, blue eyes meeting hazel. Just the idea of Blaine being glad he'd met him had his stomach doing loops. In the best possible way.

"So is it my turn to ask you now?"

"Isn't that cheating Detective? Shouldn't you be going through my apartment, checking out my fingerprints, doing back ground checks?"

"I thought you said you were going to give me a clue?"

"Well then, since I'm not one to go back on my word, fire away."

Kurt repeated back that questions that Blaine had asked him and it felt great to be able to put some facts to the man sitting next to him. As Kurt discovered that Blaine Anderson was 22, born on the 17th January in Westerville, Ohio and moved to New York when he was 18 and started college at NYU, the two gravitated further towards each other subconsciously, until by the time Kurt and Blaine had both answered the same questions they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, Blaine's leg still folded under him and pressing against Kurt's thigh, and his hand still rubbing circles on Kurt's knee.

"So now we're even." Kurt fought the urge to blush when he noticed how they were sitting.

"I suppose we are." Blaine smiled down at where their bodies were touching, and squeezed Kurt's knee again before glancing up at the clock. The sight of the hands pointing it out to be midday made his eyebrows furrow a little; as much as he wanted to stay on the sofa talking with Kurt, he needed to get back to work. "My break is over, but I would love to see you again, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt looked up at Blaine through his eyelashes, and Blaine's breath hitched.

"I'd like that very much, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine leant closer towards Kurt and keeping his hand on his knee he reached over with the other to place it at the top of his thigh, so that he was leaning over the taller man, one hand rubbing his knee and the other tracing feather-light strokes from the top of his thigh to his hip and back again. "We best do something about that then, hadn't we Detective?"

Blaine's breath was tickling Kurt's face by this point and he couldn't stop just staring at the man leaning over him. His tanned skin was so smooth, it looked so _soft_, his eyes even larger and more golden than ever before, his lips plump and pink and just a little bit _moist_, and those freckles just below his perfectly styled hair...

And then Blaine was gone, no longer even sitting on the sofa, but standing in front of Kurt, his fingers tapping away at an iPhone that looked familiar.

"Oh my God, you're a pyromaniac!"

"And you didn't even notice, Kurt I'm ashamed, I'm beginning to think you're not a real Detective." Blaine winked for what must have been the _thousandth _time since they'd met the week before. "I put my number in there and texted myself so I have yours. I'll call you tonight and we can sort something out, for this weekend maybe?"

"Okay."

"Okay." Blaine grinned one more time before turning to walk back to his place behind the counter. Kurt gathered together all his things and started walking to the door. Just before he left the building, Blaine's voice called out from behind him.

"I look forward to talking to you later, Detective."

And that one sentence was ringing through his mind for the rest of the day.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sorry this is so late! Some college work was sprung upon me and I had to rush to get it finished. This chapter is a little bit longer than the last few though, to make up for my tardiness. I really hope you enjoy it, reviews are love, so let me know what you think!**_

Kurt tried to carry on with his day as if it was any old Tuesday. He really did. But when Blaine Anderson tells you he's going to call you, that he's _looking forward to talking to you_, apparently all semblance of normality goes out the window.

At this point, Kurt has given up playing it cool, with himself at least. His reaction to his phone vibrating with an incoming text had blown that idea to smithereens – he'd heard his phone vibrating on the kitchen counter and had leapt out of his armchair to sprint across the room, only to find that the text was the rudimentary 'how are you doing' text from his dad. The seemed to be dragging by painfully slowly. Blaine had said that he would call that evening, so Kurt wasn't really expecting a call until at least six. After he'd puttered about the house, making lunch and reading a little, it was still only just gone three o'clock, so he had at least three hours to kill.

He spent half an hour cleaning his apartment, but he'd only lived there for a little over a week and he was naturally a very organized, tidy person so there wasn't very much house work that needed doing. He tried to read some more but his mind kept drifting, replaying broad grins and circles being rubbed onto his knee and warm breath on his skin and soon Kurt was left a little breathless and with a whole different problem. Normally he would have no problem slipping his hand into pants and relieving himself, but he knew whose face he would be seeing when he closed his eyes and whose name would be on his tongue, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold a conversation with Blaine knowing what he'd been imagining doing with him only hours before.

In an effort to fend off his growing arousal, Kurt decided to call Finn. He hadn't spoken to his Dad yet that day, but there was no way he could hold a conversation with his father with _that_ going on in his pants, and he hadn't spoken to Finn since he'd moved, except for the occasional text. When he was sixteen, the idea of speaking to Finn would have probably had the opposite effect on his hormones, but in the years since their parents got married Kurt couldn't imagine feeling anything but brotherly affection for him, and despite a few problems in the early years the two were very close, usually forgetting the 'step' and treating each other as if they had been brothers all their lives.

As per usual, Finn didn't answer his phone until it was about to switch to voicemail – Kurt had always suspected that this was because he kept forgetting where he'd left his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Finn."

"Kurt! Hey, Bro!"

Kurt smiled. It was nice to know that some things never changed; Finn would always be the sweet, rather dopey boy that he was in high school. "How are you?"

"I'm great, Dude, everything's the same here as it was before you left. I miss you though."

Kurt's smile grew. "I miss you too. How's Carole?"

"She's doing okay, her and Burt obviously miss you though, too. She's been cooking a lot, tryin' to do the healthy stuff that you like. It's not as good as what you make, though."

There was a moment of silence, the two brothers just listening to the comforting, familiar sound of the other breathing down the phone, enjoying feeling close despite the distance.

"Well," Kurt broke the quiet, "I'll make you something for this weekend when you bring the rest of my things. And I'll cook some muffins to take back for Dad."

"That's be great, Bro. I'm looking forward to seeing you."

Kurt frowned. His brother sounded… a little _off_. There was an edge to his voice, as if he was preoccupied with something. "Finn? Are you alright, really? You sound a little-"

"Rachel called." Finn cut in, and Kurt immediately understood. "It's like every time I'm doing good, she appears again and everything goes to crap."

Kurt had to suppress a groan. Finn had been doing well. Really well. He'd been dating his girlfriend, Susan, for fourteen months with only one real problem thus far – a problem which had happened last Christmas, when Rachel had come back to Lima to visit her Dads and had decided to just 'pop in to say hello'. "You can't let her get to you, Finn."

"I know! I know. It's just… it's Rachel."

"I know." Boy did he. If anyone could knock things off balance with just their presence, it was Rachel Berry.

"She asked about you."

"Oh did she now?"

"Yeah. Wanted to know what you're up to now."

"I bet she did."

"I told her you're doing really great."

His heart swelled a little with Finn's words. His step-brother's support healed a little part of him every time. "Thank you, Finn."

"Just tellin' the truth, little brother."

Yeah, his brother's pretty great.

"Look, Kurt, I know you don't like her…"

"It doesn't matter what I think of her. All that matters is that you don't let her cause any problems with Susan. You're so sweet together, and she's completely in love with you."

"I love her too. But Rachel…"

"But Rachel, indeed."

When Finn spoke, he sounded a little choked. "I'm so confused, Kurt."

"I know Finn. Hang tight. I'll fix you up this weekend. My cookies can fix anything."

"You're the best, Kurt."

"I know."

The two brothers laughed together, and Kurt's heart lightened a little, and he could feel Finn's doing the same over in Lima.

"Oh! Oh, Kurt, I almost forgot!"

Kurt chuckled at Finn's enthusiasm. "What?"

"Karofsky came in to the garage yesterday."

Kurt froze where he stood, goose bumps erupting on his skin instantaneously. "Oh?" His voice sounded a little shaky.

"Yeah, and Kurt, guess what?"

"What?"

"Karofsky is _gay_! He bought his boyfriend with him!"

Kurt's breath caught in his throat. "What?" Yeah, his voice was definitely shaky.

"Yeah! I know Dude, I was totally shocked. Especially after he was such a douche to you in high school."

"So… what, he introduced you? He called the guy his boyfriend? Actually _said_ the word?"

"Well, no, he looked a bit squiffy actually."

Kurt couldn't help spluttering out a laugh. "Squiffy? What is _squiffy_, Finn?"

"You know, like when you keep shifting around when you're standing because you don't want to be there but you're going to be there anyway, even when it makes your eyes go all big and you're face all red and you start to sweat everywhere and look like you're going to puke but you don't and you stand there anyway."

Kurt didn't reply. What do you say to that? _Definitely getting Finn a thesaurus come Christmas._

"So yeah, anyway, they were holding hands while I was fixing up the car, and when they got back in the guy kissed him. Like, on the mouth."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

There was another silence, this one not as comfortable as the last. Kurt looked at the clock, and his eyes widened in a way that probably would have been comical if anyone were there to see. "Hey, Finn, I'm going to have to go. I'm expecting a phone call but I don't know what time he's going to ring, so I want to be ready in case it's soon. I don't want to miss him."

"…This some guy?" Finn's voice instantly had a protective edge to it, and Kurt rolled his eyes. He knew that Finn had been being extra protective of Kurt in the last couple of years, to make up for his mistakes in high school, but really.

"Oh my God, Finn."

"Sorry, but you're my little brother, it's my job to look after you."

"I'm older than you, dimwit."

"Age is just a number."

"Oh God."

"Who is he?"

Kurt sighed. Anything he said to Finn would be reported back to his Dad, no doubt. "It's just a guy I met, Finn. He works at a coffee shop I go to and he asked for my number. No big deal."

"If it's no big deal, then you won't mind telling me his name."

"Finn!"

"You're dating someone with the same name as me? That's a bit weird, Dude."

Kurt groaned. "Oh my god. His name is Blaine, if you must know. And I'm not dating him, it's just a phone call. It's _not a big deal._"

"But do you _want_ it to be a big deal?"

"I'm not saying another word to you, Finn Hudson. I'm hanging up now."

"See you at the weekend, little brother. Say hi to _Blaine_ for me." The last thing Kurt heard before he hung up was the sound of his brother chuckling down the phone.

To Kurt's surprise – and relief, he didn't think he'd be able to wait much longer whilst retaining grip on his sanity – his phone rang not even half an hour after he'd hung up from Finn. He reached his hand up to check his hair was presentable before he realised what he was doing –_ he can't even see you, get a grip, Hummel_ – and grabbed his phone with a shaking hand. "Hello?"

"Kurt."

"Blaine?"

"Ooh, well done, maybe you _are_ a detective after all."

Kurt let himself grin; he was free to be as _un-cool_ as he wanted if Blaine wasn't actually there to see him.

"So, can I take you out tonight?"

"Wow, Blaine, don't mince your words, get straight to the point."

"Sarcasm is unbecoming, Detective."

Kurt grinned, and he could just _tell_ that Blaine was, too.

"Seriously though, Kurt," _Kur...t._ "I want to take you out. Are you free tonight? Seven o'clock?"

He looked at the clock on his microwave. That would give him about three hours to get ready, enough time. Just. "Sure."

"Great!" Blaine's enthusiasm was tangible and Kurt felt himself growing excited about the date too.

"Great."

"Great."

There was a moment of silence, where Kurt stood, looking out the window, smiling like a fool. "So. Shall I meet you somewhere, or…?"

"Oh!" Blaine sounded surprised, as if Kurt had startled him. "Right. No. I'll pick you up. I want to woo you, Kurt Hummel."

Oh. _Oh_. Kurt blinked rapidly, his cheeks turning pink. _Nobody's ever said anything like that to me before_. And he kind of loves it. "I'll text you my address then."

"Great."

"Great." There was another silence, before they both began to laugh at how awkward they were both behaving. "God, I feel like a pre-teen girl."

Blaine laughed again. "Oh don't you worry, Detective. I know you're all man." It would have sounded like such a line had he lowered his voice the way he had when he was flirting in the past, but Blaine kept his tone light – flirtatious still, but more teasing, and Kurt managed to keep his head rather than become flustered. Maybe because it's easier to think when you're not looking into Blaine's eyes.

"So I'll see you at seven then?"

"Yes, seven."

"What are we doing? I need to make sure I'm dressed appropriately."

"It's a surprise. If you're a decent Detective I suppose you'll be able to figure it out, but if not you'll just have to trust me to give you _the best date of your life_," Blaine paused before adding, "And you'll look stunning in whatever you wear."

Kurt flushed at the compliment. "The best date of my life? Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you, Mr. Anderson."

"Nothing wrong with a little confidence."

"I just hope you deliver, then."

"Don't you worry, Detective. I always deliver."

Kurt had never before been pleased that his date was running late, but it was almost seven thirty and his hair was being particularly stubborn and he'd just managed to hair-spray it into submission, Kurt had picked out the perfect outfit, if he did say so himself; Dark blue jeans that clung to his legs making them seem endlessly long and hugged his ass sinfully, a pale blue button up that accentuated the muscles in his arms and his toned chest, navy suspenders and tie and a grey cashmere cardigan that broadened his shoulders. He knew he looked good, now Blaine just had to arrive so that his aesthetics weren't wasted. Speaking of… The clock on his microwave was now showing 19:37 and Blaine was more than fashionably late. _Best date of my life, my ass_. Kurt was just beginning to entertain the possibility that he was being stood up, when his phone began to vibrate on the counter. He picked it up before the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

Silence.

"Are you phoning to cancel on me, or…?"

"Oh! Um, no. I'm here."

Another silence.

"Then shall I buzz you up?"

"Yes please."

Kurt hung up without another word, and pressed the button to let Blaine up. He was more than a little annoyed at this point; Not only had he arrive more than half an hour late, but he was so _squiffy_ on the phone… _Would it have been so hard to call and let me know he was running late?_ Just as he was letting his irritation build up, he heard a rapping on his door. He strode over and flung the door open with a frown firmly fixed on his face, but he immediately forgot his anger when he got a look at Blaine.

His hair was plastered to his head (and not in the cute hair-gelled way), droplets of rain water dripping down his face, a weak smile obviously being forced onto his lips. The nice white shirt he was wearing would have looked extremely nice had the rain not stuck it uncomfortably to his body (_stop think squiffy, not think it, Hummel_) and turning it slightly see-through (and no, Kurt did not look anymore than a fleeting glance. Absolutely not.) His fitted black jeans were stained darker with water in large patches over his legs, and he was clutching a truly _miserable_ looking bunch of flowers that probably would have been beautiful were they not drooping under the rain. The only thing still in place was his bowtie, the cheery clue fabric – _a perfect match to Kurt's shirt, what a nice coincidence_ – looked almost mocking on the drench man.

"Um. It's raining."

Blaine was in such a poor state, but Kurt couldn't help the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. "Yes, I can see that."

Blaine's cheeks flushed a little, and Kurt felt strangely pleased that he was more confident than Blaine for once, then instantly felt guilty when he took in how (_not squiffy, not squiffy_) uneasy he looked.

"Did the rain slow you down or are you forty minutes late for some other reason?" Kurt smiled softly to take the edge off his comment, but Blaine's eyes were fixed on his feet as he stumbled over his words.

"I, um. Yes. Well, I mean I was probably a little... but not that much, I just, um, I didn't..."

Kurt took pity on the usually confident man, and put a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. "I was just teasing, Blaine."

Blaine finally looked up, and upon seeing the sincerity in his gaze, straightened up a little, lifting his chin, and held the flowers out. "I stopped on my way, to get you flowers, and the rain caught me as I was walking from the store." Blaine looked at the bouquet in his hand, and winced a little. "These are a bit ruined, but I'll be you some more another time. I just wanted to give you flowers."

Kurt smiled even wider and took the flowers from Blaine's hand. "Nonsense, you don't need to give me more, these are gorgeous. Come in while I find a vase."

Kurt ushered Blaine inside and shut the door behind him before walking into the kitchen and rummaging through a cupboard for his favourite vase. He made a pleased 'ah ha!' sound and set a pretty vase on the counter. "This will do nicely. It was my mother's and I've been meaning to get something to put in it since I moved here."

Blaine's eyes widened. "Kurt, no! Don't put those in a vase that obviously means something to you, they're a mess, let me get you some more, please!"

"These flowers are lovely Blaine, don't be silly. Besides, nobody's ever given me flowers before, so these mean something too."

Kurt looked up and smiled sweetly at Blaine, who smiled back, his expression a little awed. He blinked a few times, and Kurt could see the exact moment that Blaine's confidence returned. "A handsome guy like you, never received flowers? That's a travesty. You should be showered in them."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Well, try telling that to the men of Lima, Ohio, where I was the only out kid. Or perhaps to the gay men I met in gay bars in Columbus. I'm sure they're all about giving flowers."

"Well then, the men of Ohio obviously have no taste. Which obviously I would know. None of the guys I knew would have been good enough for you, either."

The two didn't stay long in Kurt's apartment, leaving again not long after Kurt had arranged his flowers to his satisfaction. Blaine seemed to be putting all his energy into making up for the bad start to their date, holding doors open with a flourish and leading a light hearted conversation about the trials of working as a barista. Kurt was laughing particularly hard at a story about an elderly woman who demanded whisky in her coffee as Blaine held the cab door open for him, and they both jogged, heads down from the rain and Blaine's hand on Kurt's lower back, into a small but elegant Italian restaurant in a quieter neighbourhood. Kurt looked around and made an appreciative sound at the restaurant's classy interior.

There were a number of people waiting to be seated, but Blaine walked confidently up to the Maitre D', "Anderson, for two."

The young girl looked down at the sheet on her podium and frowned slightly before looking up again. "I'm sorry, but we had to reallocate your table."

Kurt felt Blaine's arm stiffen against his side. "Excuse me?"

"Your table was booked for quarter past seven, and you're more than forty five minutes late. We had to give it to someone else that was actually here."

Blaine's jaw tightened and his neck and ears were turning a furious pink. Kurt knew that Blaine was embarrassed, but had to fight a giggle. This man had been so confident on the phone and in the coffee shop earlier that day, and now...

"If you want to wait, we should have another table for two in about forty minutes."

Blaine scowled, but Kurt's giggles were getting harder to stifle. A few escaped, and Blaine looked at him, an adorable confused expression on his face. "Maybe we'll be in time for this one."

Blaine's scowl deepened, but Kurt's lips were wobbling with the effort of keeping down his laughter, and before long Blaine was fighting laughter as well.

"Let's just go somewhere else, Blaine. We'll walk and just go to the first place we find, how's that?"

Blaine nodded, and linked his arm in Kurt's before turning and leaving the restaurant.

Finding somewhere else was easier said than done. They walked for about twenty minutes, just talking about their respective college careers, in the rain, before they came across another place to eat, an up-market restaurant that looked busy but _dry_ and Kurt skipped a little where they were walking when he saw it. He started dragging Blaine over the road, but Blaine was resisting. "Blaine?"

Blaine was looking (_not squiffy_) edgy again, and didn't meet Kurt's eye when he responded "I can't afford it."

"Oh. That's okay, don't worry. I can pay for us. Anything to get out of the rain, right?"

Blaine shifted from foot to foot. "I, um. We can if you'd prefer, but I asked you out. I want to take you somewhere," he looked into Kurt's eyes finally, "I work two jobs and play gigs when I can so that I can afford college and my rent, and I've got decent savings this month and I'd really like to take you somewhere with them, but that restaurant isn't quite in my budget. And it's emasculating to admit, but it'd be more emasculating to let you pay for me. So, thank you, Kurt, but I'd really like to take _you_ somewhere, please."

Kurt looked into his eyes for a moment, before smiling. "Okay. Lead the way." He tucked his arm back into the crook of Blaine's elbow and made him start walking back down the side of the road.

The next place they came across was _not_ what Blaine had in mind when he planned to take Kurt to dinner, but at this point, with conversation flowing but both of them rain drenched and hungry, they just wanted to get inside somewhere and eat.

"It's not where I wanted to take you."

"It's _fine_ Blaine; I don't care where we eat as long as we can spend time together and have a nice evening."

Kurt wasn't used to this Blaine, this nervous, easily embarrassed Blaine. He'd just adjusted to confident and slightly cocky Blaine, and this was a total change, but the more time they spent together, walking in the rain and just talking, the more Kurt liked both sides of Blaine – he wasn't really sure it was possible, but he was both incredible sexy and dapper, and adorable and endearing.

Maybe it wasn't the best meal either of them had ever eaten. The 'restaurant' they'd stumbled across was a family place and was filled with screaming children and waitresses that looked completely disinterested in their jobs. It was noisy, making it very difficult to hold a conversation, and when their food eventually arrived 30 minutes of giggling at the mothers trying to control their demon children later – _Kurt, Kurt, I actually think she's going to throw the ketchup, she's actually going to do it!_ – Kurt was being given a bowl of chilli fries that he wouldn't order if he were held at gunpoint and Blaine was staring, horrified, at a burger that looked like it hadn't even seen an oven.

"Bon appetit?"

They finally left the restaurant still hungry (Kurt had nibbled at the salad from Blaine's burger and Blaine had eaten the fries that looked least likely to give him a disease), with Blaine looking sheepish but the conversation between the two thrilling them both. The rain was still pouring, but by this point neither of them was worried by it.

"I don't even want to know what my hair looks like; no amount of hair spray can save me now."

"At least you don't look like Medusa. My hair must be growing a life of its own."

"No, the rain's just melted all that gel. Every cloud."

"Hey! I like my gel."

"And you look very suave, but your hair needs to breathe, Blaine, you drown it."

"So I drown mine, and you _gas_ yours, what a sadistic pair we are, eh Detective?"

"Just promise not to tell anybody that I went out in public looking like this."

"I promise. But you look gorgeous as ever."

Kurt blushed. "Nobody looks gorgeous when they're this soaked through." Even as he was saying it, he knew it was an outright lie. There was no other word for Blaine than gorgeous in this moment. Rain drops were clinging to his eye lashed, his skin was shining and he looked _effervescent_ in the moonlight, his hair curling and his eyes sparkling.

"I have a feeling you're the exception to most rules though, Kurt." Blaine stopped at swung around to stand in front of Kurt. "Anyway, lots of people think that being in the rain is _romantic_."

"No, they say that _dancing_ in the rain is romantic. Walking in the rain? Not so much."

Blaine got a strange look on his face, and Kurt knew what he was going to do but before he could say anything more than "don't you-" Blaine's hand was sliding round his waist and gripping his hand and they were swaying on the sidewalk, people walking around them and looking at them oddly before carrying on with their evenings.

"Blaine!"

"Shh. Just enjoy the moment, Detective."

They swayed in a circle together, and the moment was so much less than perfect but still so _perfect_ that Kurt had to force his breathing to stay even. And when Blaine pulled him closer and began to sing-whisper in his ear "_He's my kind of rain, like love in a drunken sky, he's confetti falling down all night, he's my kind of rain_".

The moment was only brief, but the feelings didn't leave him for the rest of the night.

When they got back to Kurt's apartment, they both looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"How is it you still look beautiful even when you look like someone's drowned you?"

Kurt blushed, and bit his lip. "It's my natural Hummel charm."

Blaine smiled, and shuffled a step closer. "Thank you for letting me take you out tonight, Detective." He leaned forward, and Kurt would have sworn his heart stopped beating as Blaine's hand slipped into his, his thumb rubbing the back of his hand and his lips pressing sweetly on his cheek.

"You're more than welcome. Thank _you_ for taking me out. I wish I could keep up with cliché and say I had a lovely time tonight, but..."

Blaine flushed and looked at the floor. "Right. It was a bit of a disaster."

"That it was. I thought you said something about _the best night of my life_?"

Blaine's cheeks tinted further, and he looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor and never return.

"I'm teasing again Blaine, stop looking so..." _not squiffy, not squiffy_, "squiffy." _Oh God. I'm going to kill Finn._

Blaine was shocked right out of his embarrassment. "Squiffy? I look squiffy? What is squiffy?"

It was Kurt's turn to be embarrassed. "My twenty three year old brother still has the mind of a fifteen year old. And I guess he's a little contagious? I meant uncomfortable. Stop looking so uncomfortable."

Blaine grinned at the explanation before furrowing his eyebrows again clenching his jaw, his neck and ears pink.

"It wasn't the best date of my life. But it was the best, _worst_ date of my life."

Blaine looked up, straight into Kurt's eyes, and grinned. "At least it was memorable."

"Oh, it's not a night I'll be forgetting in a while."

They grinned at each other, switching back into the mindset of two pre-teens on their first date.

"So when do I get a do-over?"

Blaine looked shocked. "You want a do-over?"

Kurt looked pensive as he replied. "Well, maybe not a do-over. I don't want to pretend this night didn't happen in any way. But maybe a more functional date? Where we can actually talk without being interrupted by screaming children or rained on."

"That would be fantastic."

"How's Friday for you?"

Blaine frowned. "I'd love to do Friday, but I have a gig. It's just a small cafe, but I play there every month and people are starting to come regularly just to see me... And then on Saturday night I have a gig as well, it's my first time at this bar on Pier 59 and it should be a good opportunity for me. If you won't be bored of me two nights in a row, I'm free tomorrow night?"

"I don't think it's easy to be bored of you, Blaine Anderson. Tomorrow's great."

"Great." There was another silence spent with the two men just watching each other, before Blaine laughed quietly and gave Kurt's hand one last squeeze before stepping away. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Detective."

"I look forward to it."

"Good night, Kurt."

"Good night, Blaine."

And Blaine walked backwards for as far as he could, eyes trained on Kurt's, before turning to walk down the stairs.

That night when Kurt closed his eyes to go to sleep, his mind was filled with rain drops clinging to eyelashes, soft lips on his cheeks, songs whispered in his ear and a sweet voice saying "I just wanted to give you flowers." He had never slept so soundly.


End file.
